


Rosebuds

by PitchonthePitch



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Office, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Flowers, Getting Together, Hate to Love, Human Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Light Angst, M/M, Office Sex, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25248499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitchonthePitch/pseuds/PitchonthePitch
Summary: Simon and his awful coworker, Baz, are both considered for a promotion at work. Whoever gets the promotion will be transferred to another office. As their office rivalry comes to an end, Simon asks himself whether he really wants Baz out of his life as much as he thought.Oh, also? Simon loves flowers. And Baz can travel through time.A gift for the Carry On Exchange! Hope you like it, light-on-the-riverbed.tumblr.com :)
Relationships: Ebeneza "Ebb" Petty & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 7
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tw: mention of death (Only because of Baz's mom and Ebb's brother.)

Simon stopped at the local flower shop before he went to work that morning. The shop was called Rosebud, and it was Simon’s favorite store in town. He wasn’t much of a shopper, but when he stepped through the swinging doors of Rosebud and breathed in the sweet smell of flowers, he felt calm and centered in a way he rarely did in his daily life. Working at Watford, one of the world’s latest-and-greatest tech companies, he felt stressed most of the time. He liked coming to Rosebud, where everything felt still and quiet. Today was especially nice because his favorite cashier was working behind the counter. “Hi, Simon.” Ebb smiled at him.

He liked seeing Ebb smile. It wasn’t something she did a lot of. There used to be a time when she didn’t smile at him at all. But then he kept returning to the store, and at some point, Ebb must have decided Simon was one of her favorite returning customers, because now he got not only smiles but warm conversation and even the occasional cup of tea. She said he reminded her of her brother. Simon was pretty sure she was just projecting, or looking for a reason to bring her brother up in conversation, but he appreciated the compliment just the same. He liked being compared to a member of Ebb’s family. She talked about her brother a lot; he died when they were young, and Ebb still missed him everyday. He was the reason she didn’t smile very much.

“Hi, Ebb,” Simon greeted, flashing a smile of his own. “You got any moon lilies?”

He hung around the shop even after he bought the bouquet. He and Ebb talked flowers. Ebb showed Simon some more pictures of her garden at home. The new bee bombs were growing in quite nicely. Simon complimented her work and lamented that he lived in an apartment. He couldn’t wait to own a house with a big yard.

“You’ll get there someday,” Ebb said. She eyed the bouquet with a shine in her eyes. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

“Just someone I work with.” Simon knew what she was implying, and he appreciated her interest in his love life, but unfortunately, he no longer had a ‘lucky girl,' not since Agatha had broken up with him. “It’s his birthday. Dad never has time to get his employees anything for their birthdays, so I’ve taken up the task for myself…” He rambled on, hoping to derail the conversation away from his love life. He did not want to hear any well-meaning comments that he’d find that special person someday. The impulse to avoid such conversation had been ingrained in him over the past few months that he’d spent as a newly single bloke. Everyone wanted him to be happy. Everyone wanted him to be in love. Well, not everyone was happy, and not everyone was in love.

Ebb said she hoped the bloke from work liked the flowers.

“Thanks, Ebb. I’ve gotta get going, or I’m gonna be late for work,” he said apologetically. He wished he could stay longer, but Baz would give him hell if he was late again. He told Ebb to have a good day on his way out. Ebb was always so morose. Working in a flower shop definitely didn’t help. Most of the flowers she sold were sent to funeral parlors, or the families of the recently deceased, with a note attached expressing the sender’s deepest condolences. Simon suspected that part of the reason Ebb liked him so much was because he only bought flowers for the living. He made her a little less sad, he thought; he hoped so, anyway. He liked the idea of being a bright spot in someone else’s day. That’s why he liked flowers so much. Flowers could cheer up a person and make their day a little better. He mourned the smell of flowers as he left the shop. Outside, it didn’t smell like anything at all.

As a tech developer, Simon worked on the top floor of his office building. This morning, however, he got off the lift on the seventh floor, where the advertisers worked. “Happy birthday, Shepard! The boss got you these.” Simon liked to think of flower deliveries as an unofficial part of his job as the boss’s son. For Shepard, he got moon lilies, hoping they would remind him of a trip he’d taken to the Hoover Dam. Shepard was always talking about his past travels. Apparently, the day after he graduated from high school, he hopped in his truck and went on a road trip all around America. His favorite part of the trip was his visit to the Hoover Dam; he said it was magical. Simon didn’t know much about America, and he knew even less about the Hoover Dam, but a quick internet search showed him that some of the flowers that grew near the dam included moon lilies. Simon hoped Shepard liked the flowers; he liked Shepard. He was a handsome bloke, with big brown eyes and a nice smile. Simon had tried to set him up with Penny once; he was exactly her type. Unfortunately, the two of them never even made a first date. When Simon told Penny he wanted to set her up with a bloke from work, she crinkled her nose in distaste and guessed, “Baz?”

Simon’s face had flared with heat. “What? No. Why would I want to set you up with Baz?” Baz was a git. A handsome git, but still a git. Something had coiled painfully in Simon’s stomach at the thought of Baz and Penny going out together.

Penny had just shrugged. “You’re always talking about him. I thought maybe you were trying to give me an impression of who he was before you set me up with him.”

Simon had blanched. “I don’t _always_ talk about him--”

The conversation had ended pretty quickly from there. Now, though, as Shepard smiled at the flowers, Simon wondered if he should try again. Shepard was a nice guy. Penny deserved a nice guy. “Thanks, Simon! Tell Davey I appreciate his thoughtfulness.” Shepard’s smile was knowing. “Hey, in exchange for the flowers, I have some news for you. I heard through the grapevine that there’s a promotion coming up for the developers. Whoever gets it will move to Watford’s central office and work directly with Davey.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Everyone’s saying it’s between you and Baz.”

Simon’s heart sank. Baz was one of the best developers at Watford. He walked around like he could do no wrong, just because he was posh and handsome and good at his job. The worst part was that he was kind of right; he could do no wrong. Since Simon started working at Watford two years ago, he’d found himself making countless mistakes at work. Stupid mistakes: coming in late, missing deadlines, losing important documents. Nothing detrimental, but still mistakes that cost the company time and money. Meanwhile, Baz barely seemed to try, and he performed his job perfectly. Baz was never late. Baz was never unprepared. Baz was never disorganized. He was simply a perfect employee. Simon hated him. Penny would say he was just jealous, but no, Simon was pretty sure he hated him. (Okay, maybe he was a little bit jealous of the git. So what?) (You could be jealous of someone and still hate him.) Baz was a total prat. He was arrogant and pretentious and absolutely infuriating to Simon.

The feeling was mutual. Two years prior, when Baz first heard that Simon was giving people at Watford flowers for their birthdays, he'd walked right up to Simon and told him he didn’t want any flowers, and he would happily sue Watford for giving him an allergy attack if Simon ever tried to give him any. Baz wasn’t even allergic to flowers. (Simon checked his records to make sure.) Whatever. The git didn’t deserve flowers, anyway.

Simon thanked Shepard for the heads-up and went the rest of the way up the lift to the top floor. On his way to his office, he bumped straight into someone. Speak of the devil. Baz didn’t even look ruffled from bumping into Simon. His hair was perfectly coiffed, as always, slicked-back with gel and styled in a way that Simon could never dream of doing with his own hair. Baz's suit was smooth and cleanly-tailored. Baz started to apologize and then stopped when he saw just who he bumped into. His lips pulled back into a mean smirk. “Snow,” he greeted. “You’re looking extra harried today. I assume you’ve heard about the promotion?” Simon’s hands fluttered up to the lapels of his own jacket on reflex, smoothing them over. He was always self-conscious about his appearance at work. He never felt like ties or suit jackets ever fit him quite right. He felt out of place in them, like a little kid playing dress-up. Baz caught the movement, and his smirk deepened. Baz just loved when he could tell that he was getting to Simon. Simon hated giving him the satisfaction, but he couldn’t help it. Baz did get to him. Baz told him, “I hope you’re not expecting to get that promotion just because you’re Davey’s son. We both know I deserve it more.” What Baz deserved was a punch in the nose. (That nose was too perfect; it needed to be bent up a little.) Simon clenched his fists, resisting the urge to give Baz exactly what he needed.

Simon didn’t even want the stupid promotion. His job at Watford was always supposed to be a temporary position. It wasn’t his dream job. It was just something to do to make money for awhile. The only real goal he'd ever had while working at Watford was to beat Baz. If Baz was going to be such a prick, then maybe Simon _would_ go to the trouble of beating him out for that promotion. He’d love to work at an office where he didn’t have to see Baz’s stupid, sneering face everyday. He puffed out his chest and leveled a glare at Baz. “I’m going to get that promotion because I’m a better worker than you, Baz, not because I’m Davey’s son.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Snow.” Baz was leering at him, crowding him against the wall. When had he gotten so close? Simon pushed him off. Hard.

Baz stumbled back. His feet nearly went out from under him, but he caught himself against the wall just in time. Something fell out of his pocket when Simon pushed him, but he didn’t even notice. His eyes were locked on Simon’s, ready for a fight.

“Baz! Simon!” Their HR manager, Trixie, approached them with a cool, assessing gaze. “We don’t have a situation here, do we?”

“Ask him,” Simon spat.

Baz adjusted the lapels of his jacket, casually, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Simon hated him so much. “Certainly not. What can I do for you, Trixie?”

“You can both come speak with me in my office.”

“Trixie, we really weren’t trying to start anything--” Simon sputtered, afraid of getting in trouble. Trixie usually let them off the hook for any antics they got into. She said she didn’t like paperwork, so as long as they didn’t get too disruptive, she’d let them get away with a lot.

“Don’t worry,” Trixie said, with a twinkle in her eye. “I have good news for you both. I just got off the phone with Davey.” Trixie went down the hallway to her office, beckoning them to follow. Baz went; Simon paused. He waited for them to turn their backs on him before he knelt down and snatched up the object that had fallen out of Baz’s pocket. It was an antique timepiece. Simon huffed as he tucked it into his pocket. Was Baz really so pretentious that the clock on his phone wouldn’t do?

By the time Simon caught up to them, Trixie’s office door was swinging shut. He grabbed hold of it just before it closed on him. Baz noticed, of course. “You get lost, Snow?” he sneered, in his usual Baz-way.

...On second thought, maybe Simon would take his time returning the timepiece to Baz. Hell, maybe he’d sell the thing. It looked expensive. He took the seat opposite Baz in front of Trixie’s desk. She informed them of the promotion and asked them about their interest. “Davey is considering you both. I just need to hear from both of you that you’re interested before he can make his final decision. Keep in mind, whoever gets the promotion will be required to move to the central office. So; are you interested?”

Baz and Simon both answered at once. “Yes.”

Their gazes locked. Baz smirked at him.

Simon thanked his lucky stars that, no matter which of them got the promotion, they would soon be working in different offices.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the weekend, Simon forgot about the timepiece. He'd never actually intended to sell the thing; only to keep it long enough to drive Baz up the wall, wondering where it was. Baz drove Simon up the wall often enough; Simon deserved a chance to do the same to him. His plan worked better than he could have imagined. The following Monday, Baz pulled him aside the moment Simon stepped into the office building -- nine A.M. on the dot. His voice was a growl. “Where is it?”

Simon couldn’t resist. “Where is what?”

“You know what, Snow.” Baz’s voice lowered to an even deeper register. Simon was thrilled. Usually, he was the one who snarled and growled and snapped his teeth because Baz was being a prick. “I know you took it,” Baz said.

If the roles were reversed, Baz would most certainly drag the torture out a little longer. Simon wasn't so cruel. “Oh,” he said, in a teasing voice, “you mean the pocket watch?” (He was maybe a little cruel.) (Only for Baz.) 

Baz spoke through clenched teeth. “Yes, you absolute numpty. The pocket watch.”

“You should’ve just said so, Baz.” He pulled out the timepiece from where it was still stuffed in his jacket pocket. “It fell out of your pocket when we had our little uh, scuffle.”

“You mean when you pushed me,” Baz grumbled.

Simon ignored him. For once, he was the calm, collected one. He wasn’t about to take Baz’s bait. “I meant to give it back to you after our meeting with Trixie, but I guess I forgot.”

Baz ripped it out of Simon’s grip. As he did, the dial on the side of the timepiece caught on Simon’s thumb and turned. The clock face turned with it; the arms slid back to eight forty-two A.M. Three things then happened in quick succession, so quickly as to be invisible to the human eye -- like they were happening, not within the confines of any given time frame but, rather, outside of time itself. The first thing was that the timepiece emitted a soft click. Second: the world around them moved in a blur, people walking backwards out of the building and out of the lift just down the hall. Lastly: Simon and Baz stayed exactly where they were, standing in the foyer with the timepiece clutched between their hands, while the world around them blurred and changed.

“What,” Simon breathed, “the fuck was that?” The world was moving again, seamlessly, as if the events of the day had never been disrupted at all.

“Nothing,” Baz said, too quickly. He looked even more frazzled than before, but Simon couldn’t enjoy the look on him anymore. He himself was feeling just as frazzled.

“Did we--” Simon faltered. “Did we just go back in time?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Simon pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Eight forty-two. I walked through the door at nine exactly.” He was always on time. Or a few minutes late, depending on how crowded his favorite coffee shop, The Dryad, was. (He couldn’t start the day without a coffee and a sour cherry scone.) Once, he had gotten carried away helping Ebb move new flowers into the shop, and he'd ended up being an hour late. (He lied and said he'd had a personal emergency.) But never in his entire career had Simon shown up a minute early. (Bloody hell, maybe Baz had a point with his whole nepotism theory.)

“Your phone is wrong,” Baz said.

“My phone is not--”

“Simon, Baz.” A third voice calmly entered the conversation. Well, at least someone around here was still calm and collected. Trixie flashed them a smile as she walked past. “Look at you two, both early for work. I guess you both really want that promotion, huh?”

Simon waited until she was gone to give Baz a look. “My phone is wrong, huh?” Baz slumped his shoulders. The taste of victory was as sweet as a sour cherry scone; Simon never won arguments with Baz.

His victory quickly turned bitter as Baz grabbed his arm and dragged him to the lift. He kept his hand on Simon’s arm through the lift ride and continued to drag Simon all the way to his office. A few people gave them strange looks as they passed, not used to seeing the two of them in such close proximity. Trixie looked particularly amused. Simon flushed and attempted to shrug Baz off, but Baz’s hand was an iron grip on him until the two of them were in Baz’s office with the door shut. “Fine,” Baz admitted. “It’s not a normal timepiece, okay? It’s… special.”

Simon rubbed his arm. “Yeah, I gathered.” A magical timepiece. He couldn’t believe it. “Where did you get it from?”

“My mother left it for me. I have no idea where she got it from, so don’t even ask. She had a lot of powerful friends. I imagine any one of them could’ve given it to her. If you tell anyone about it,” Baz added, with a mean glint in his eye, “I’ll just go back in time and stop you from finding out about it in the first place.”

Simon ignored the threat. “How long have you been using it?”

“I’ve had it for a few years.”

“Well,” Simon huffed, “no wonder you’re so perfect.”

“Excuse me?”

Simon crossed his arms and glared at Baz. “You always give me such a hard time about being Davey’s son, but I think a magical timepiece is a slightly bigger advantage than nepotism.” Baz actually turned sheepish at his words, looking down at the floor like he was slightly ashamed. Seeing that look on Baz’s face was a staggering surprise to Simon that emboldened him to go on. “I guess you were right. You probably will get that promotion over me. After all, it’s hardly fair for me to compete with you when you get to cheat your way through life.”

Baz recoiled, the same way he did when Simon pushed him. He looked like he wanted to argue, but then gave up at the last moment. He simply shrugged. “You’re right.”

“I -- I’m right?” Simon couldn’t hold back his stutter. Baz had never said he was right before.

“Yes,” Baz said. “I have the power to cheat my way through life. I can get anything I want. So tell me, Snow -- why am I here?”

“Uh,” Simon said. “What do you mean?” He had no idea what Baz was playing at.

Baz had a look of perfect boredom on his face. “Why am I here, working at one of Watford’s many offices -- not even the central office, mind you -- having a chat with _Simon Snow_ of all people?” Simon cringed. Baz didn’t even need to insult him to make him feel bad; he said Simon’s name like it was an insult. The git kept going: “Why haven’t I won the lottery? Or invented the first iPhone? Or gotten a million degrees from Cambridge University?”

Simon realized that he didn’t know. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Is there a limit on your timepiece? Are you only able to go back for a few minutes in time?”

Baz looked pained. Physically pained, like Simon’s stupidity actually hurt him. “No, Snow, I can go back as far as I want. All I have to do is turn the clock, and time turns and bends just to please me. The limits are endless, and there’s no cost to me whatsoever for using the timepiece.”

“So, then,” Simon asked, “why are you here?”

Baz stepped toward him. He came so close to his face that Simon thought they might have another fight. “Because I’m not a cheat,” Baz said, in a low, gravelly voice. “I rarely use the timepiece. I only ever use it when I can do some good for other people: stop a person from walking into traffic; stop myself from saying a joke that was more hurtful than I intended.” Oh. Well. That actually made Baz sound… kind of nice.

...Until Simon remembered all the cruel, hurtful things Baz had ever said to him. Apparently, Baz had never seen fit to use the timepiece on him. Simon felt an unexpected pang in his chest. Every insult, every mean name, every cutting remark -- Baz could’ve taken it all back. Simon always knew Baz was a prat, but he thought Baz had at least regretted some of the horrible things he'd said to Simon over the years. But apparently, he didn’t. In a way, Simon felt like Baz had branded him with a brand new insult: Simon Snow wasn’t worth turning back time for. “You’ve never used it on me, have you.” He was mortified to hear the sound of his own voice; it sounded just as sad and dejected as Simon felt.

Baz looked at him peculiarly. “Why do you ask?”

Simon shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “You say hurtful things to me all the time. I used to think you were just blunt, or insensitive, or even that you couldn’t see how much your words stung. I’m glad to know the truth -- you’re just a prat, who never cared about being friends with me.” He snapped his mouth shut. He hadn’t expected Baz to let him ramble on that long, and he ended up saying something too close to the truth. He didn’t want Baz to know how hurt Simon was over him. Besides, Simon didn’t even mean that last bit about wanting to be friends. Why would he ever want to be friends with a posh, arrogant prat like Baz?

The sneer was back on Baz’s face. “Of course not,” he snapped. He almost sounded defensive, like the mere idea of him wanting to be friends with Simon was an accusation from which he needed to clear his name. “Why would I ever want to be friends with an audacious, self-righteous clot like you?”

Simon recoiled. “Fuck you, too, Baz.”

He turned on his heel and walked out of Baz’s office.


	3. Chapter 3

Simon's oasis was Rosebud. He went there straight after work and got himself flowers to try and cheer himself up. Azaleas. Davey never talked about Simon’s mom, but the one piece of knowledge Simon had gleaned from him was that she'd loved azaleas. Simon got them for himself whenever he was feeling sad, or wishing she was around, or longing for something different for his life. Ebb was working the counter again. She and Simon chatted as she rung him up for the flowers. The shop was mostly empty, so she wasn’t busy. Ebb usually wasn’t busy. The town didn’t give Rosebud nearly enough appreciation; it was like a hidden gem that everyone passed by. Simon sometimes prayed to whatever gods were out there that the place didn't close down. "Simon, what's wrong?" Ebb offered him a gentle smile. Simon was always shit at hiding his emotions. Penny said he looked like a kicked puppy when he was sad.

He told her what happened with Baz. “I don’t even know why I’m upset. Not like I wanted to be friends with that git, anyway. I just--” He broke off. “I’ve been so caught up in our stupid rivalry for so long. You know, my job at Watford was supposed to be temporary -- just a practical job to earn money until I figured out what my dream job was. But then I met Baz, and he was a prat right from the start. He decided he hated me before he even knew me, just because I was Davey’s son. I got so caught up in trying to beat him, I lost sight of everything else -- and then two years passed, and here I am, still working at Watford, with absolutely no idea what I want to do next.” He slumped forward, sipping at the tea Ebb had brought out from the back of the store just for him. It was warm and comforting. “Now one of us will be transferred to another office, and I won’t even have our bloody rivalry to focus on.”

“You sound like you’re going to miss him.”

“No, of course I’m not going to--” Oh, bloody hell. “I’m going to miss him, aren’t I?” Baz Pitch had truly done him in. The git couldn’t be content with simply hating Simon, or insulting him, or outshining him at work -- he had to deliver one final blow. He had to make Simon miss him. Simon had never hated him more.

Ebb hummed. Simon drained the last of his tea; she poured him some more. “Were you always hoping that your rivalry would turn into something more?”

“I guess I was,” Simon sighed. His face was hot and embarrassed. He could’ve blamed the heat on the tea, but he knew better. “Maybe that’s why I’ve stayed at Watford for so long.” He was mortified. To think, all this time, he’d secretly wanted to be friends with Baz Pitch. God, what was wrong with him? Was he a masochist?

“Have you thought about telling him how you feel?”

“Why? Just to embarrass myself even more in front of him? Baz has made his feelings toward me painstakingly clear.”

“I’m just saying,” Ebb said, holding her hands up in surrender. “You never know how much time you’re really going to have left with a person. You'd better make that time count.”

Simon sulked, but he didn’t argue. He knew she was thinking of her brother. Their time together had been cut short. He reached around the counter and gave her hand a squeeze. “Thanks for the tea, Ebb.”

“Wait,” she said, as he got up to leave. She went across the store and returned with more flowers. Daffodils. She plucked a few out by the stem and added them to Simon’s bouquet: the spots of yellow shined brightly against the soft pink hues of the azaleas. It was a beautiful bouquet.

“Daffodils,” he said, smiling fondly at the flowers.

“To represent new beginnings,” Ebb said. “You’ll find your dream, Simon. Just give yourself some time.”

He clutched the bouquet tighter, like a child holding onto a teddy bear for comfort. “Thanks, Ebb.”

“Be sure to welcome all of the new beginnings in your life, Simon.” Ebb gifted him with one of her odd, knowing smiles as he left the shop. He carried the memory of it with him all the way home, the memory of Ebb’s smile and the promise she had left him with.

He could really use a new beginning or two.


	4. Chapter 4

As he walked into the Watford building a few weeks later, Simon had the strangest sense of deja vu. The moment he walked in, Baz was on him. He pulled Simon by the arm, all the way up to his office. “Baz,” Simon groused. He was getting really tired of being dragged around his workplace by Baz Pitch. People were going to start talking. Baz shut the door behind them, locking it with a sharp click. Yeah, people were definitely going to start talking. Baz turned back to Simon and just looked at him -- like Simon was a puzzle that Baz could not for the life of himself figure out. Simon struggled not to squirm under that gaze. “What do you want, Baz?”

“You backed out of the promotion.” The words came out hard and accusatory. Baz almost sounded angry with him.

And, oh, _of course_ Baz was angry with him. Baz was always angry with Simon, no matter what he did. Even when Simon stepped aside and let Baz have the stupid promotion he wanted so badly, of course Baz still found a way to be angry with him. Simon was so sick of Baz being angry with him for no good reason. “Yeah, I did,” he snapped. “You’re welcome.” He’d talked to Davey over the weekend. Davey was surprised when Simon told him he wasn’t interested in the promotion, but he didn’t try to change Simon’s mind. He just thanked Simon for letting him know and wished him a good night.

Davey hadn’t cared nearly as much about the whole thing as Baz seemed to. “Why?” Baz demanded. “I thought you were planning on beating me.”

“You almost sound disappointed.”

“Maybe I am.”

Simon reeled, surprised by the admission. He supposed he understood where Baz was coming from, though. Baz wanted one last fight before the two of them parted ways for good. He didn’t just want to leave Simon; he wanted to beat him. Well, for maybe the first time in his life, Baz Pitch wasn’t getting what he wanted. Baz’s disappointment was victory enough for Simon. “Good," he said. "Maybe the disappointment will be good for you; make you more humble.”

Baz made a noise like a scoff.

Or a laugh.

“Baz?” Simon asked. “Why haven’t you ever used your timepiece on me?”

On reflex, Baz reached for his pocket where the timepiece was. “Who says I haven’t?”

Simon frowned. “You did. The other day. You said I wasn’t worth the trouble, or something to that extent.” He tried not to sound as hurt as he was, though he was sure he failed abysmally. Baz could always see right through him.

“I used it on you once -- just once.” Baz almost looked contrite. “You were right before: a magical timepiece is an unfair advantage. And I only want to have fair advantages over you, Snow, like my wit and my good looks.” He smirked.

Simon almost found himself smiling back. Baz could be kind of funny sometimes -- even when he was insulting Simon. “So,” he drawled, feeling uncharacteristically nervous, “why did you use it the one time?”

Baz shrugged again. In all the time that Simon had known him, he didn’t think he’d ever seen Baz shrug as much as he was now. “You were fiddling with your stupid briefcase, the one with the lock that slid open.” Simon remembered that briefcase. It was a cheap one he'd bought himself when he first got his job at Watford. It started to fall apart soon after he got it. He eventually bought a new one, but not before a few embarrassing incidents in which all the contents of his briefcase spilled out while he was walking with it. He ended up carrying it with two hands for awhile, to make sure it stayed shut while he was walking. “You were so preoccupied with holding the thing shut, you weren’t paying attention to where you were going. You walked right into traffic, like an absolute numpty.” Baz was trying to look put out about the whole thing, but his voice wavered as he told Simon the story. Simon tried to imagine what it must have been like -- watching someone get hit by a car. Baz must have been so scared.

He saved Simon’s life.

“But… you hate me.”

Baz looked pained. “No, I really don’t.”

“Then why do you always act like you do?” Simon demanded. How could Baz save his life, and then spend the next two years being an absolute prick to him?

“Just because I don’t deign to kiss your ass like everyone else in this office--”

“Oh, sod off, Baz.” They both went quiet. They just looked at each other. How strange to think Simon had known Baz for two years, and he still didn’t understand the prat one bit. “I don’t hate you, either,” he said finally.

Baz cocked his head at him. “You don’t?”

“No. Why do you think I backed out of the stupid promotion? You deserve it more. You’re passionate about the work Watford does, and you’re a better employee than me.” Simon found the words easier to say than he would’ve expected. So, he wasn’t the perfect employee. So what? He didn’t care about advancing at Watford. All he'd ever cared about was beating Baz. But now, their rivalry was coming to an end. The game was over. Simon didn’t need to beat him anymore.

“Oh. Um, thanks.” Was Baz… blushing? He always looked like he was blushing a little; his skin was reddish-brown, and it turned even more red around his cheeks. But usually it was a light red, barely noticeable. Now, it was a furious flame that started around his cheeks and went all the way down his neck past his shirt collar. Was he… angry at Simon or something?

“Don’t mention it,” Simon said. That nervous feeling in his stomach was blooming. He wasn’t used to feeling nervous around Baz. He was used to feeling angry around him. He cleared his throat, trying to shake the feeling. “Apparently, you saved my life without me even knowing. So, we’ll just say we’re even now.”

Baz had a look on his face that Simon couldn’t decipher. He looked almost… sly, like he was plotting something. “I don’t know if I’d call us even.” His voice had dropped down a few pitches. “I did save your life, after all. All you did was back out of a promotion that you likely wouldn’t have gotten, anyway.”

Simon scoffed. The sound came out weak and breathless sounding. He tried to summon the familiar anger and indignation that came whenever Baz insulted him, but he couldn’t seem to find either. There was only that nervous feeling, bubbling up even more furiously at the sound of Baz’s low, teasing voice. “So…” Simon’s own voice came out shaky. “You’re saying I still… owe you something?”

Baz’s eyes darkened. “Yes. How do you plan to repay me, Snow?” That _voice._ God, why didn’t Baz talk in that voice all the time? It was deep and sultry, and it made the nervous feeling inside Simon twist and crow, like a squirming animal inside him. When had Baz gotten so close? He was crowding Simon against his desk, just far enough out of reach that Simon could move away if he wanted.

Simon didn’t move away. He fell languid and pliant against the desk. “Um,” he said.

“Eloquent, Snow.”

Fuck, was Simon blushing now? He felt hot all over. He wanted to push Baz, but for entirely different reasons than usual. “Well, have you got any bright ideas?”

“Oh, I have a few.” Bloody hell. Baz was looking at his lips.

“Oh?” Simon said. He couldn’t find any more words.

“Yeah. Would you like to hear them?”

Wordlessly, he nodded.

Baz had soft lips. His hand was warm on Simon’s neck.

Simon had never given his sexuality much thought before. He probably should have, after Agatha broke up with him. Apparently, she didn’t like boys. (Or girls. She was aroace.) He probably should’ve taken the time to figure out his own sexuality then. But he was just so wounded from the breakup. He’d been with Agatha for three years. She’d been such a big part of his life. He’d been sad enough, thinking that she’d never really been in love with him. He hated to think that maybe he’d never really been in love with her, either.

But now, Simon was starting to give his sexuality some serious thought -- because he’d never once felt for Agatha even a modicum of what he was feeling for Baz. He felt like he was on fire. He felt like he was crashing into the sun.

He was maybe a little bit gay.

Fuck. He should’ve listened to Penny before. After the breakup, she’d asked him point-blank if he’d ever been attracted to Agatha. He’d just brushed her off. He hadn’t wanted to talk about Agatha; he hadn’t even wanted to think about her. He’d been aggravated with Penny for even bringing her up, and especially for implying that their whole relationship had been a sham. “You should give the matter some thought,” Penny had told him. “An important step to being happy is knowing who you are and what you want from life. Agatha took that step, and she’s happy now. I want you to be happy, too, Simon. You’ve been in a relationship with the wrong person, working at a job you don’t even like. You deserve better. You just have to figure out what ‘better’ means for you.”

Baz felt… better. God, Baz felt fucking amazing.

Simon had probably better start kissing back soon, he realized. But Baz pulled away before he could.

...And, yeah, if Baz wasn’t blushing before, then he definitely was now.

Simon liked that he was. He liked being able to get a reaction out of Baz for once. And what a reaction it was. Baz looked beautiful with his cheeks scarlet red, broadcasting exactly what he was feeling. Simon always had to guess what Baz was feeling, and he always guessed wrong. Baz may as well have been auditioning for the part of the mysterious, brooding vampire in the cheesy television production that was their lives. Simon liked this Baz better: this blushing, debauched Baz who couldn’t hide his feelings if he tried. “I’m sorry,” Baz said.

Sorry? Sorry for what? That was--

“That was a mistake,” Baz said. “My mistake. I thought you -- I thought I was getting a vibe, or an invitation, or something. But I shouldn’t have--” Baz was rambling.

Baz was rambling.

Simon liked that he was.

“Baz,” he said. Baz’s mouth snapped shut. “It’s okay.”

Baz scowled. “It’s not okay. I kissed you -- at work!” Baz had his hand at his pocket, where Simon knew the timepiece was.

Probably just a nervous habit; he didn’t really look like he was reaching to use the timepiece. Still, Simon’s hand shot out to wrap around Baz’s wrist. “Don’t you dare turn back the clock.” He didn’t want to lose the moment they just had. He didn’t want to go another two years thinking that Baz hated him. Their second kiss was deeper. Simon grabbed Baz by the lapels of that posh jacket he always wore and dragged him onto his lap. Quickly, his hands moved to the back of Baz’s head, pulling him closer. All at once, Simon was realizing every intimate thing he’d ever wanted to do to Baz, and his hands couldn’t keep up with them all. He wanted to mess up that perfectly coiffed, slicked-back hair of his. He wanted to pull that stupid, posh jacket right off him.

“Simon.” Baz pulled back, just enough to speak against Simon’s lips. “Wait.” He went for the timepiece again.

Simon didn’t stop him this time. He was a languid, boneless thing on Baz's desk. The only protest he could come up with was a soft whine. “Baz…”

“Relax, love. I just want to give us some private time. We wouldn’t want the whole building to hear us.” He dialed the clock forward by a few hours. The office building went quiet around them. Just a second ago, Simon had heard the unmistakable sound of heels clicking past Baz’s office door. Now they were gone. “It’s nighttime. Watford is closed for the day,” Baz said. He leaned back into Simon: an invitation. “We have the place all to ourselves, Snow.”

“You called me Simon before.”

“No, I didn’t.” The next kiss was good, but it wasn’t enough. Baz helped Simon take his shirt off. It was the first time Baz ever helped him with anything. Simon returned the favor. They were cooperating better now than they had in the last two years they spent as coworkers. Simon yelped when Baz started kissing down his chest. Things were falling off the desk as Simon lay fully across it, but neither of them cared. Baz’s kisses kept going past his chest, down his stomach…

Baz paused just above his fly. “Okay?” he asked. His voice was little more than a breath against Simon’s navel.

Simon couldn’t get any words out at all. He merely nodded, and hitched his hips forward for emphasis. He needed Baz to know how much he wanted this. God, he wanted this. He was so easy. Baz didn’t need to buy him dinner or anything. All he needed to do was be nice to him for five minutes, and Simon was putty in his hands. A warm, wet heat enveloped Simon. A sound rose up in his throat that was halfway between a moan and a whine. Fuck, Baz was…

Fuck, did Baz have to be good at everything? Simon raked his hands through that gelled-back hair. He forced himself to be gentle with his movements. He didn’t want to hurt Baz or suffocate him or anything. He just wanted to mess him up, the way that Baz was messing up Simon. “Baz -- M’gonna--”

Baz swallowed nearly all of his cum. Nearly, but not all. A bit of it hung off the corner of his mouth. Baz had never looked better. Simon reached a hand to that mouth and rubbed the cum into his skin. He wanted to leave his mark on Baz. In return, Baz made a soft noise Simon didn’t think he was capable of. Only then did Simon feel a heavy weight against his hip that demanded attention. He flipped them over so that he was straddling Baz on the desk. “Need some help with that?”

“You don’t have to--”

“I want to. I never have before,” Simon added, just so Baz wouldn’t be too disappointed with the job. “But I want to for you.”

Baz made a sound like a whimper. Simon wanted to hear more. He wrapped his mouth around Baz’s cock. He tried to mimic what Baz had done to him, lavishing his tongue around. He listened to Baz’s sounds and did more of what made him noisy. “Simon--!” Baz gasped. “I’m--”

Baz’s cum tasted better than Simon thought it would. He didn’t realize he’d had any expectations for how Baz’s cum would taste until he was swallowing it down and thinking that it tasted better than he’d expected. It was warm and salty on his tongue. He kissed Baz, wanting to let him taste himself on Simon's lips. They rested against each other while their breaths evened out. As soon as Baz got his bearings back, he lifted his head and surveyed the room around them: the entire contents of the desk was on the floor now. Baz’s pencil case had toppled, letting loose all his pens. Some of his papers had gotten crumpled by their bodies before they fell into a heap around them. “Sex in my office was a mistake,” Baz said. Simon froze. Was Baz already regretting what happened between them? “Let’s do it in a bed next time, okay?”

Simon let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “‘Next time?’” he repeated, just to make sure Baz hadn't misspoken.

“Yeah… Do you want a next time?” Baz almost sounded nervous.

“Yes." Simon tried not to sound too eager. “Next time,” he agreed, “we should definitely do it in a bed.”


	5. Epilogue

Ebb was smiling. “You two are cute together.”

Simon tried not to blush. “Thanks, Ebb. I can close up tonight.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to keep you from your date night.”

“I’m sure,” Simon said. He had a surprise for Baz that he wanted to give him in private.

“Okay, thanks Simon! I’ll see you next week. Happy anniversary.”

Over a year had passed since Simon had finally gotten up the courage to quit his job at Watford. After he quit, he realized that he had quite a lot of money saved up in the bank -- more than enough to buy Rosebud, in fact. The place was struggling, and the owner was eager to sell. Simon gave the place a renovation and reopened it. He added new varieties of flowers, a personalized bouquet-making station, and cards that described what every flower in the shop symbolized. People all around town liked to say that he added some magic to the old flower shop; now it was more popular than ever. These days, he worked at the shop to keep busy and to keep an eye on things. Simon loved the shop. He loved working with Ebb. And of course, he loved all the flowers. He felt like he was home every time he went into work.

“Hurry up, Snow,” Baz whinged. “We have reservations.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “Like you can’t just turn back the clock if we’re late. I have something for you.” He went behind the counter and got out the bouquet for Baz. Red roses: Baz’s favorite. Simon liked to tease him about being a total cliche, the dashing, Draculian gentleman with a thing for red roses. But he got the flowers for Baz nonetheless. If Baz wanted red roses, he would get them, no matter how cliche Simon thought they were. These ones had a special, personalized touch to them that Simon hoped Baz would appreciate.

Baz wrinkled his nose at the bouquet. “Snow, are you kidding me?”

The special, personalized touch was that they were wilted and dying. Simon grinned at Baz. “Why do you think I told Ebb I would close up? I wanted to see you bring them back to life.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Love you, too, Baz.”

Baz acted all put out, but Simon knew he got a kick out of using his powers in front of an audience. The timepiece used to be a secret Baz kept all to himself. Now it was something the two of them shared, and it felt like less of a burden for Baz. He let himself have fun with it: he fast forwarded through a meeting at work so they could leave for their first date; he turned back time when Simon dropped a stack of paperwork so that the papers flew back into his hands in a perfect pile; he and Simon kissed in the rain, and then Baz turned back time so the raindrops floated off their bodies and back into the sky, leaving the two of them dry again. Now, Baz held the timepiece above the flowers and turned back the clock. The flowers came back to life before their eyes. The stems straightened, and the petals bloomed and turned back to that vibrant, deep red color. Before their eyes, what once was wilted and dying became beautiful and full of life. “Just like us,” Simon murmured, remembering how much the two of them used to hate each other.

After their first hookup in Baz’s office, Simon wasn’t sure exactly what the deal was between them. They weren’t rivals at Watford anymore, but they weren’t friends, either. Simon didn’t think that one spectacular blowjob qualified Baz as his friend. All he knew for sure was that he didn’t want them to stop what they were doing. They kept hooking up in Baz’s office, and when Simon finally quit his job at Watford, they started meeting outside of work. They still weren’t boyfriends, or even friends, really. All they did was hook up. Sometimes they joked around, or Simon asked Baz about things at Watford. Once, Baz stayed over to watch a movie and ended up falling asleep on Simon’s shoulder. Simon had been fine with the idea of Baz staying the night, but the moment Baz woke up on Simon’s shoulder, he turned red and told Simon he needed to go home because he had a very important meeting the next day. Simon had complained to Penny later, saying that Baz was kind of rude to leave in such a hurry. Penny had just sighed and told him that he needed to tell Baz how he felt -- but Simon wasn’t even sure how he felt. He just knew that he didn’t like when Baz left him in a hurry. He didn't like when Baz acted like Simon was something to get away from.

The real turning-point came a few weeks later. They were at Simon’s place, just talking. Simon hadn't meant to ask such a heavy question, but it was something he’d been wondering about for awhile, and it just slipped out: “Baz? You said your mom left the timepiece for you when she died. How come you never used it to bring her back?”

“She had a rule,” Baz answered. “Just one rule: No using the timepiece to cheat death. She thought death was a natural part of life, and trying to cheat it was like trying to play God or something. I don’t know if I agree with her, but I wanted to honor her wishes.”

“But…” Simon stuttered. “I would’ve-- I probably would’ve died if you hadn’t used the timepiece on me.”

There was a long pause before Baz answered. “I know.” He didn’t look at Simon. His face was turning that familiar shade of red that it got whenever he was flustered. Burning red, like flames. “That was the only time I ever broke her rule.”

That night, Simon asked Baz if he wanted to go out with him. Like, on an actual date. Baz seemed… almost confused at first, adorably so, like he couldn’t believe Simon was asking him out. For a terrible moment, Simon was afraid the prat would laugh at him -- or worse, say that he didn’t want to hook up at all anymore if Simon was starting to get feelings for him.

But then he said yes.

“Yes?” Simon repeated, unsure if he’d heard right.

“Yes, you git. But you better take me somewhere nice: a place that gives you real silverware. I’m not going to be seen at Five Guys, or that little cafe you always get your scones from, The Dryad.”

He'd remembered the name of Simon's favorite coffee shop. “Whatever you say, Baz,” Simon answered with a smile. Baz could act like a prat as much as he wanted -- just as long as he was Simon’s prat.

Now, Baz looked down at the flowers Simon had given him and seemed to know exactly what Simon meant. With the hand that wasn’t holding the bouquet, he pulled Simon close by the back of his neck and kissed him, slowly, like he was trying to make the moment last forever.

Simon felt like it did. “Come on,” he said, pulling Baz along with him out of the flower shop. “If we don’t hurry, we’re going to miss our reservation.”

Baz huffed, but he let Simon drag him along. They did have a reservation to make, after all.

They had no time to waste.


End file.
